25 June 2013: Ecuadorian Embassy?

First thing workout for 20 min (150 aerobic steps, two flights stairs, walk).

Writing my essay about Kant’s “complexity of style”. Don’t feel need to be connected as much to Internet.

Getting discharged from Grantham is still problematic since I have to leave my old place and find one with people around. I had a brainstorm…have medical social worker use Chinese to persuade my landlord, Chau the Merciless, to renew my lease: have the lovely owner of the Lamma Grille visit me most days at noon with a hot lunch which I will gladly pay for (their burgers and chicken are to die for).

It’s frustrating for I paid the rent on time for seven years, through semi- and un- employment no matter what, and I met my helper’s payroll for that same period through the same crises. Yet Chau the Heavy Judger of Men sees fit to scream at me in Chinglish because of language misunderstandings, homophobia, and perhaps resentment at colonization I simply don’t know.

You get no traction in Asia. I showed up and worked six days a week at the learning center only to lose the job with two hours notice once the owner figured out the meaning of austerity in 2010. He’s asking friends who remain if they have friends he can hire now that business is back. I fought down a brief impulse to return, for it’s based on nostalgia for the fat years pre-cancer. Sure, it might be lovely to stop at Eslee Books after work but there I’d go again with the spending.

My new self-discipline with books is being self-taught in reading Kant. It is a bad habit to either abandon a book mid-read or not start. Plowing thru Kant makes simpler texts easier. I also refrain from bad habits such as bending page corners to mark my place, instead use folded A4 sheets of paper both to mark my place and take notes.

The Grand High Read has to be a project with events such as me lecturing myself on the Meaning of It All when unable to sleep. I used to lull myself to sleep at ten years old by pretending I was a cultivated talk show host like the long-gone Norman Ross of WFMT back home in Chicago: I met him at Stuart Brent’s long-gone bookstore on Michigan when I was with my children in 1984. A real gentleman, gay as hell, nothing wrong with that.

There’s also an incredible amount of content available online. It’s as if I live in a public library. I have access to the German of Kant’s Critique for both editions which renders it moot whether I can “read” German: I need only to align the literal English of Guyer and Wood’s Critique with the Internet text.

This has flowered “just in time” as my butt starts hurting and it’s a bit harder to walk and to poke around the shelves of great libraries as I did at Princeton’s Firestone Library in the 1980s. It’s like Spinoza’s happiness when just in time, optics meant he could continue to read after forty.

[Right now, the post-chemo blurriness isn’t active although it was late yesterday.]

Duh, this is why I should have bought real estate back in 1984, in Silicon Valley. You don’t have to move…and a small condo on Easy Street in Mountain View would have appreciated a lot no matter how crumby. ‘Course, I would have had to abide in California.

Perhaps I could join Snowden and Assange in the Ecuadorian Embassy…

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